


That Damn Streetcar's Name

by MrsHamill



Series: Sandman Crossover Project [4]
Category: The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Crossover, Multiple Crossovers, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 21:55:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6026623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting isn't really as good as wanting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Damn Streetcar's Name

**Author's Note:**

> For Micehell. I am not exactly up to speed on this fandom, though I've read a lot of stories and seen a few episodes, so please forgive any continuity errors.

* * *

She was so beautiful.

Sometimes, he would ride his bike over to her neighborhood and stand under the shade of a tree across the street from her house, hoping to see her come out. He wanted her so badly he was like a  physical ache, at times, one that made him hard and one that made him embarrassed -- he couldn't even jerk-off to the memory of her, because she was _that_ beautiful. That unattainable. So he stood in the shade of the tree and hoped to catch a glimpse of her, followed her with his eyes at school, sighing in the deep caverns of his heart. Wanting.

Sometimes as he stood there, in all kinds of weather but not in snow because it would look really stupid, she would come out of her house, with her mom, or her dad, talking to them, smiling with them, and in those instances, he could pretend she was smiling at _him_ , laughing with him, letting him hold her hand. She was so far above him, though, she was an angel, a blonde wonder from her maryjanes to the bow in her hair.

She even smelled good.

He watched her one day, saw her get in the family car with her mom and her dad and a horde of other stuff, picnic-type stuff, and sighed. His own family would never do something like that; his dad worked all the time and when he wasn't, he was sleeping. His mom worked too, and told him to be quiet while his dad was sleeping. No problems there, ma, he thought, nothing to do to make noise, even after he discovered how good jerking off was, he did it in silence. Forever worrying about waking up his dad.

Watching the car speed down the street, he sighed again and turned to get on his bike and go back home. He knew the family would be gone the whole day, and there wasn't much sense in hanging around an empty house. He turned only to start in surprise -- there was this guy standing there, leaning against the tree opposite his bike, looking at him. A tall guy, a grown-up, smoking this long cig and looking really kind of weird in these clothes that were weird, hair that was weird, everything, just everything wierd.

"Kid, you are so far gone you're not even in the ballpark anymore," he said, and his voice was weird too. Kind of high-pitched, almost like a woman's, but rough, sorta like some of the actresses on the old movie channel. 

"Whaddaya mean?" he asked, eyeing the guy warily. Stella lived in a nice neighborhood. What was this oddball doing, standing across from her house, watching it and watching him? Well, okay, neither one of them fit the neighborhood. At least he wasn't smoking or dressing like some refugee from a Hollywood movie.

"You want her, go get her." The weird guy took a deep drag then tapped the ash with his finger. "You don't just stand here for hours, hoping she'll see you. What do you think she'd do then? Call the police, that's what she'd do. Or her dad would."

He hung his head. Yes, Stella's parents would probably do that, if they ever noticed him hanging around their house. _Loitering._ He'd seen that on signs and one day looked it up in the big, ratty dictionary in the school library. "I just..."

"I know what you want kid. I probably know it better than you do. Makes you ache, doesn't it? Makes you want to scream at times." The weird guy smiled and there was something in his eyes that made him want to back away. "It feels good, doesn't it? Like she's taken up residence in your brain. Made herself comfortable there, put her feet on the coffee table."

Wanting to back away but unable to do so, he tried to shake his head 'no' only to find himself nodding, instead.

"You want her. You want to have her. Then take her."

The weird guy's voice seemed to grow even lighter, more feminine. And wasn't that _eye-shadow_ the guy was wearing? What kind of weirdo _was_ he? "I can't just take her, you goober, and what's it to you anyway?" He tried to ignore how his voice was shaking.

The guy chuckled and he felt a shiver go down his spine. "One who knows, kid. Look, it's easy. You want, you take. Boom. What makes you think she'll turn you down?"

"Because I'm... because I'm..."

"But you aren't. What makes you think she won't like that? Won't want to slum a bit?" The weird guy dropped his butt and stepped on it. "Trust me kid. You want, you take. If you remember nothing else in life, remember that."

He did remember it. He remembered it for years, as he went after Stella and got her, to his surprise. Then he found that the getting wasn't quite as good as the wanting, and after getting her, he didn't seem to want her anymore. They drifted apart, and it was only after the divorce he remembered how good it was to _want_ her. But by then, he knew that there was no way in hell he could ever get her back again, no matter how hard he wanted.

They moved on. He became a policeman because it seemed to be what he was good at. She became a lawyer and they crossed paths every now and then, and the wanting, the ache, he thought it would never go away. 

Then he took an assignment, covering for some jerk who was on some undercover mission. He knew about the mountie, some dumb goober he'd have to deal with until he could unload him, gracefully. But then the guy was standing in the door of the squad room, looking lost and tall and dark and gorgeous and want-able, and it was almost as if the weird guy was once again standing behind him, whispering in his ear.

"You want, you take. It's as simple as that."

Stanley Raymond Kowalski forced himself to move, made his mouth, his arms work. "Fraser!" he said, hugging the man, and it was all he ever wanted.

And more.


End file.
